


Alone

by sonshineandshowers



Series: fin + again [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers through 1x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: [One-shot] Malcolm reacts to the aftermath of his night terror at the end of 1x09. Can be read standalone and is also the preface to an upcoming multi-chapter fic.
Series: fin + again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937809
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	Alone

It took hours to remove himself from the floor, to leave the scene of his night terror’s crime. He extricated the knife from the hardwood and set it on the counter. Poured himself another glass of water and tried to swallow enough courage to shower.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated to the air that witnessed his display of knife work. What if he hadn’t woken? Would gusts have carried him away for her murder? Would the sluicing clip of skin have taken the wind from his sails and spared her? Questions circulated in the air, yet answers escaped through heaves in the walls.

He padded through where she had scrambled for her clothes, his steps stark contrast to her hurried collection of displaced articles. He righted the lampshade that had been knocked when she pulled on her sweater. Picked up the blanket they had cuddled under and gathered his discarded shirt, pants, and belt from the floor. He dropped everything in bins in the washroom to head to the washer and dry-cleaning.

He stripped the last vestiges of sex under the rain of the shower. Lathered in lavender body wash to absorb its calm. Tugged his hair to free the tension from his head. Water curled from his ear, over his shoulder, around his hip, down his leg, and trailed the evening to the drain.

“You were wrong,” he shared another truth with the air. The draft’s chill led him to get dressed quickly, pulling on a sweater and pants. A stop for his shoes and coat, and he slipped from the hallucinations lurking in the ether, out the same door she had fled.

* * *

He had all weekend to mull over the events, to castigate himself for his myriad of errors. Why had he fallen asleep? Why had he let her stay over? Why had he let the sweet release of sex tip him into a state he could not control? Why had he kept knives on his counter? Why had he listened? Why oh why had he listened?

Knives moved to hide in a drawer. A letter opener went back inside his desk. What about the stools, french press, coffee machine, bowl of fruit? He turned his hands back and forth in front of him multiple times, questioning their power. Anything could be a weapon. The air whispered he couldn't protect anyone in his presence. In the shadow of scaring the shit out of a lover, he believed it.

He sidestepped an invitation for dinner with his mother and sister, ignored his mother's inquiry on how his date had gone. He fed Sunshine, fed himself, took his pills, and wandered, searching the fresh air for his center. Surely though it had been lost amongst everything else that slipped through the cracks, it could be discovered again.

Malcolm found himself back in Gabrielle’s office first thing Monday morning, freeing all the thoughts he had stockpiled. “You telling me to have sex was a bad idea. I-I can’t subject anyone to this, to -“

“I didn’t tell you to have sex," she corrected and cut off his run.

“You told me it was a need, that I needed to -“ he started again.

“Malcolm, you are in charge of your own choices," she reminded firmly.

“I _trusted_ you." _You put this in my head_. _You._

“What happened?” Her calm tone invited him to share more.

“I can’t go back and fix it,” Malcolm commented. “Can never go back.”

“To what?”

He fidgeted, not answering the question. He recalled Eve yelling to him to wake up, cowering away from him, reflecting the same horror he felt when he realized what he had inflicted.

“What happened?” Gabrielle repeated.

“I brandished a knife at her, at Eve, and - and she ran out of my apartment. It was a nightmare - the girl - it was so real, so -“ he rambled.

“Malcolm.”

“I can’t hurt someone," he begged, "I -“

"Malcolm."

“Was such a bad idea.”

"Malcolm!" she raised her voice.

He stopped rifling for every moment, every feeling he experienced the past weekend and looked at her.

"Did she get hurt?" Her key question broke through.

"This one time I had sex with a guy and he swung a knife at me. He was a Disney lay," he parroted.

" _Malcolm_."

"The knife didn't touch her." _But boy were they both hurt._

"What happened in the nightmare?"

"The girl in the box. My nightmares are all about the girl in the box," he insisted. "You were wrong."

"Malcolm."

"You. were. _wrong_ ," he emphasized, still brewing with hurt.

"What are you feeling?" she tried to gather what hid beneath his anger.

"No one can get close to me. It's not safe," he stressed.

"That's not a feeling."

"Alone." He suffered through the rest of the appointment and headed to the station - the only place he felt less so.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
